A week passed in a haze of silent humiliation. I'd fallen into a routine of invisibility—dusting corners, scrubbing floors, and disappearing whenever footsteps approached. The revelation of Thomas's marriage to Amanda had left me hollow, moving through my duties like a ghost haunting the halls of someone else's life.
Tonight was different. The Walsh mansion buzzed with activity as staff prepared for Amanda's dinner party. Crystal glasses gleamed under chandelier light, and the scent of expensive cuisine wafted from the kitchen.
"Sarah, you'll be serving the main course," Mrs. Peterson instructed, eyeing my uniform critically. "Remember—silent, efficient, invisible."
I nodded, smoothing down my starched apron. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd come to Seattle to finally stand beside Thomas as his wife. Instead, I'd serve dinner to the woman who legally held that title.
The dining room glittered with wealth—silver candelabras, imported china, fresh flowers arranged in artful displays. Six guests in designer clothing laughed over cocktails while Thomas stood beside Amanda, his hand resting possessively on her waist. He wore the smile I once believed belonged only to me.
I entered with the first course, keeping my eyes downcast as I placed each plate with practiced precision. No one acknowledged me—I was furniture, a convenience.
"Thomas tells us you've secured the Westbrook account," a silver-haired man remarked. "Impressive for someone so new to the firm."
"He's a natural," Amanda replied before Thomas could speak. "Though we've had to work on polishing a few... rough edges." Her gaze flicked briefly to me.
I retreated to the kitchen, my cheeks burning. When I returned with the main course—roasted duck with cherry reduction—a blonde woman in pearls was mid-story.
"—and then this waitress, with the thickest hillbilly accent you've ever heard, asked if we wanted 'crick water'!" The table erupted in laughter.
As I leaned between guests to serve, the blonde woman glanced up at me. "Oh my, speaking of accents—where are you from, dear?"
The table fell silent. Six pairs of eyes turned to me, amusement dancing in their expressions.
"Montana, ma'am," I answered quietly.
"Isn't that charming," she said, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Say something else."
I felt blood rush to my face. "Would you like freshly ground pepper?"
A titter ran around the table. "It's like National Geographic," someone murmured.
I risked a glance at Thomas. His face was impassive, his eyes fixed on his plate as if I didn't exist. Not a flicker of recognition, not a hint of defense for the woman who had once been his world.
"That's enough," Amanda said lightly. "Let's not embarrass the help. Though Thomas, didn't you mention your grandmother lived somewhere... rustic? What was it called?"
"It's not important," Thomas replied smoothly, changing the subject.
I finished serving in silence, each plate placed before these strangers who laughed at my existence. In their eyes, I was a curiosity, a backward thing to be mocked. In Thomas's eyes, I was nothing at all.
Three days later, I woke to a wave of nausea so intense I barely made it to the bathroom. It wasn't the first morning this had happened, but it was the worst. As I knelt on the cold tile floor, a terrifying possibility took root in my mind.
I counted back the weeks since I'd arrived in Seattle, since the night Thomas had visited my quarters, his momentary guilt manifesting as a physical need that left me believing, foolishly, that something of our love remained.
During my afternoon break, I slipped away to a community clinic I'd spotted on my rare trips to the grocery store. The waiting room was crowded with people who looked as lost as I felt—women with tired eyes, children with runny noses, men with work-worn hands.
"Mitchell?" a nurse called eventually.
The examination room was small but clean. The nurse, her name tag reading "Jessica," had kind eyes and gentle hands.
"The test is positive," she confirmed after examining me. "You're about six weeks along."
The world tilted beneath me. A child. Thomas's child, growing inside me even as he sat at dinner tables pretending I didn't exist.
"Are you alright?" Jessica asked, concern creasing her brow. "Is there someone I can call?"
I shook my head, one hand unconsciously moving to my still-flat stomach. Against all reason, a spark of joy flickered to life within me. A baby. Our baby.
"Thank you," I managed to whisper.
That evening, I waited in Thomas's office—a small room off the main library where he sometimes worked late. My heart pounded against my ribs as I heard his familiar footsteps approaching.
He stopped short when he saw me. "What are you doing here? Someone could see you."
"I need to talk to you," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "It's important."
"Make it quick." He closed the door, checking his watch impatiently.
I took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."
The color drained from his face. "What did you say?"
"I'm carrying your child, Thomas." Tears welled in my eyes, but they weren't entirely from sadness. Despite everything, some foolish part of me hoped this news would change things—would remind him of the love we once shared.
"Get rid of it." His voice was ice.
"What?"
"You heard me." He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "This can't happen, Sarah. Do you have any idea what this would do to my life? To my marriage?"
"This is our baby," I whispered, one hand protectively covering my stomach.
"There is no 'our' anything!" he hissed, stepping closer. "If you don't handle this, I'll make sure everyone in our hometown knows what you really are—a desperate, delusional girl who followed me to Seattle and tried to trap me."
"You know that's not true," I said, tears now flowing freely. "You came to my room. You held me. You said you missed me."
"A moment of weakness." His eyes were cold, unrecognizable. "Fix this problem, Sarah, or I'll fix it for you."
He stormed out, leaving me alone in the darkened office. I sank into a chair, my hand still resting on my stomach where our child grew, unaware of its father's rejection.
In that moment, I realized the boy I'd loved in Montana had never existed. The man who replaced him was capable of cruelties I was only beginning to understand.
